3 Year Cancer-Versary. Dad Update 10/5/2016

October 5 will always hold a pretty important place in our hearts. On October 5, 2013 our entire world was turned upside down. And although we didn't know what exactly caused Dad's seizure that day- we consider this date Dad's "cancer-versary". 

Three years. 

Three years ago we were told the statistics associated with Dad's cancer- statistics that were not freely given to us, but statistics that were asked by Dad to our Neurosurgeon- 14.6 months. Approximately 20% of people diagnosed with Gliblastoma will survive three years.

Our hearts stopped. 

I look back now and remember the fear that consumed me when I heard that my Dad would have just ONE year left in his lifetime.

How foolish of me to think that I had the right to limit God to statistics. 
How foolish of me to think that His hand was not in the midst of our darkest days. 
How foolish of me to not believe in miracles.

Because that is exactly what Dad is- a miracle. As Dad reaches his 3 year mark battling this beast, he is now considered a "long term survivor". My heart aches to read that line- it's something I fight for every day, to provide better treatment options and funding for brain cancer research. A "long term" survivor at three years is just not long enough. 

And I could go back to that day and relive all the pain, anxiety and pure fear that was placed in my heart- but instead, I want to focus on the joy, faith, and HOPE we've experienced these last three years. 

It's been three years of some good MRIs, and some not so great ones. It's been three years filled with great days, and really bad days. It's been three years filled with lots of laughter, and a lot of tears. I think it's safe to say we've been on a bit of a roller coaster these last three years. 

We don't know what the next three years will have in store for us, much less the next three days. We are all too aware that our world can be turned upside down at any moment, but I think if anything God has used these last three years to prepare us for the possible difficult days ahead.

We've learned to appreciate the good, and find a way to be positive throughout the bad. We've learned that it's okay to cry and be fearful, but to trust in a much greater power. And we've learned that we have the strongest parents in the world. I'm not sure how we would have survived without the strength and determination of Dad, and the love, hope and faith of Mom.

I was recently telling a friend that during the first few months of Dad's diagnosis I was so incredibly angry. I spent so much time, and had so many conversations with God that were filled with anger and hate. And now, now I'm starting to realize what this journey is really about, and as much as cancer sucks, I feel pretty honored that God thought our family was strong enough to handle it all. 

I just hope that we've made him proud throughout this journey. 

We can't thank our friends and family enough for loving and supporting us throughout it all. We would have crumbled a long time ago if it wouldn't have been for the countless prayers, the endless meals, and the constant texts just to check in. 

We've become a stronger family because of this- we have learned that the little things are the BIG things, we've learned that our faith is much BIGGER than this cancer, and we've learned that throughout it all, we really are blessed.

Dad has stopped taking all treatments- no more chemotherapy or Avastin treatment. He is feeling so much better and we are so thankful that this was an option we were given, that Dad is doing well enough to take a break from the medicine that was making him so incredibly sick. 

Thank you all for the continued love and support, and thank you all for helping us BTHO Brain Cancer! 

Here's to celebrating Dad being a cancer SURVIVOR for three years!

Post MRI/Post Dr Appointment Dad Update. 9/13/2016

I realize now that I never gave an update post-doctor appointment after Dad's MRI and, still what we think, was a TIA (Transient Ischemic Attack). 
*A TIA happens when blood flow to part of the brain is blocked or reduced. After a short time, blood flows again and the symptoms go away. A TIA is often labeled "mini-stroke", it is more accurately characterized as a "warning stroke". The only difference between a TIA and a stroke, is that with a TIA the blockage is temporary. TIA can last for up to 24 hours. 

We made a decision, as a family and with the help of our amazing doctor, to stop all treatments for Dad. No more chemotherapy. No more Avastin. No more bi-weekly trips to the Cancer Clinic. 

To say Dad is happy with this decision would be an understatement, as he dreaded taking those chemotherapy pills, and bi-weekly trips to College Station were never his favorite. 

(Can I mentioned that I'm thrilled as well- as this will mean less fights with his insurance company to pay for the VERY expensive Avastin treatment!)

As we had our appointment with Dr. Fleener, she was thrilled to share that the MRI looked great, that there in fact were no changes, no tumor growth, and no indication of a stroke- and she also shared how relieved she was that it was a good MRI since we just stopped the chemotherapy. 

Mom, myself and my sisters had already had this discussion about the chemotherapy and our fear that the tumor had returned, we had this discussion prior to knowing the results of the MRI. We talked, and we were honest with one another, and it was simple what we shared: How horrible we would have felt if Dad would have had another terrible round on the chemotherapy, only for the tumor to return. 

It was in that moment that we were all on the same page, that I truly felt at peace with our decision to stop all treatment. So when others ask me how I feel about Dad being off the Avastin now as well, I share with them how thankful I am that this is even an option for Dad and how thankful I am that I am giving it all to Him to walk us through. 

We will have another MRI in 6-8 weeks, and until then we aren't sure what our journey will involve. We are all hoping to get back to a new sense of normal, as emotionally and physically, we are all still so exhausted from the other week. 

My devotional has been with me throughout this three year cancer journey, and as the outside looks worn and the pages bent, it's been pretty spot on during some of our "bumps in our journey":

September 1 (Dad's MRI/Results)
"When you encounter rough patches along your life- journey, trust that My Light is still shining upon you. My reasons for allowing these adversities may be shrouded in mystery, but My continual Presence with you is an absolute promise. Seek Me in good times; seek Me in hard times. You will find Me watching over you all the time."

And watching over us He did. 

Thank you all for the continued thoughts and prayers, and thank you all for helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!

What A Week It's Been. Dad Update 9/2/2016

Let me first start by sharing that Dad's MRI did not show any tumor growth or any changes from our last MRI. The cancer is NOT back!

To say we are all a bit shocked, would be an understatement- as I was preparing for appointments with another doctor and had started researching clinical trials offered by this particular doctor in Austin. 

Many have asked us how we knew something wasn't right with Dad, so I thought I would share how in just four short days we thought our world was falling apart- how four "short" days have felt so much longer and left each of us physically and emotionally exhausted. 

On Monday, Dad fell. This fall wasn't exactly abnormal by any means, as with the two brain surgeries and radiation treatment, he has some right side weakness- but he was able to get himself back up and was able to tell Mom about it later. Monday wasn't a great day, but it wasn't terrible. But then there was Tuesday...

Tuesday Mom tried to get Dad up, but he was just so incredibly tired and so incredibly weak. With Dad off of the chemotherapy, this was unusual and Mom gave me a call. I came home and stayed with Dad all afternoon while Mom finished up some meetings at work, just to make sure he didn't fall again or have any other issues. He honestly seemed okay Tuesday afternoon. But Tuesday night was a different story. 

My sister made dinner and went over to Mom & Dad's house, where Dad had some extreme right side weakness, and was constantly dropping his fork at dinner. We all started getting a bit more concerned, as it seemed as though everything was getting worse.

And then Wednesday morning I received a call from my other sister that something was clearly wrong with Dad- between the right side weakness getting worse, his speech basically unable to be understood and him being even more confused- I made a call to the Cancer Clinic to figure out what we should do. 

My mind flashed back to almost three years ago when I made a similar call, except that time barely able to be understood as I sobbed on the phone. This time, I was way too calm for my own liking- but I like to think my faith has grown TREMENDOUSLY these last three years- and before making that call, I gave it all up to God. I talked to the nurses and Dr. Fleener and we decided to move up the MRI- we all had the same concern, that the tumor was back. 

Wednesday was difficult, as Dad was so incredibly weak, his speech was nothing that I could understand, and he was doing things that were not logical at all. I found myself having to stop Dad from doing things that he would never do, and try to explain to someone, who couldn't reason at all, why he shouldn't be doing something. There were so many times I wanted to just break down and cry, as I felt like I was seeing my Dad slowly slip away. 

I left Wednesday evening and my mind was racing in a million different directions. I knew something wasn't right, and I refused to not be prepared for the tumor to have returned. Thursday was spent getting things in order at Mom & Dad's, as I wasn't sure what appointments and treatment would be in our future, but I wanted everything to be ready for us to be busy focusing on Dad. 

By Wednesday night, Dad was acting normal again- no right side weakness, speech completely back to normal, and his confusion almost gone. I didn't know what to think, as when he was initially diagnosed he had a seizure on a Saturday, but we didn't find out until later the next week it was from a tumor, and he didn't have another seizure between the initial seizure and the surgery- so was this a similar situation? Would Dad be bad one minute and completely normal the next because of a new tumor? 

Thursday seemed a bit like a blur, as we waited patiently (ok, I wasn't exactly patient) for the results to come in from the MRI. With the yard work all complete, house cleaned, laundry done, and grocery store trip made- we sat and waited as Dad went to his MRI appointment. Time seems to go by so incredibly slow when you're waiting for results. But the results came back and all was clear- no cancer, no changes. 

I can't explain why there is no tumor growth, but turning to my devotional almost seemed TOO perfect for today:
"...When you depend on Me continually, your whole perspective changes. You see miracles happening all around, while others see only natural occurrences and 'coincidences'..."

We aren't sure what exactly was going on with Dad these last few days, although we are concerned it could have been a few mini-strokes he experienced- and sadly when you're up against something like Glioblastoma, a mini-stroke(s) is a relief. Dad's IV treatment can cause strokes, so we will discuss today IF this treatment will stop due to everything Dad has been experiencing. 

I can't thank each of you enough for the countless thoughts and prayers being sent our way, we witnessed the power of prayer this week and we are so thankful for another miracle in Dad's cancer fight.

Quick Dad Update 8/31/2016

It's with such a heavy heart that I make this post, but as each of you have celebrated during the good times with Dad's cancer battle, you've each also helped pray with us throughout the bad- and right now, we are asking for lots of prayers.

We are noticing some changes to Dad and we are concerned this is the result of the cancer returning. We have moved up our next MRI with hopes of knowing what exactly is going on so we can figure out our next steps. 

Right now, God's plan doesn't seem exactly perfect, but if I've learned anything these last 3 years, it's that His plan is always perfect, sometimes it just takes a while to see it fululy.

Re-reading this devotional today in hopes my soul is filled with calmness and hope in whatever journey is ahead.
"Follow me one step at a time. That is all I require of you. You see huge mountains looming, and you start wondering how you're going to scale those heights...But you don't know what will happen today, much less tomorrow...If I do lead you up cliffs, I will equip you thoroughly for the strenuous climb. Walk by faith, not by sight."

Asking for continued prayers as we meet another "bump" in our journey.

Happy Birthday Dad! 8/18/2016

Today we celebrate the birthday of one of my favorite people, someone who has experienced joy and heartache, celebrations and defeats- but throughout it all has had a smile on his face, and such strong faith running through his soul.

I can't put into words how incredibly proud I am to call this man my Dad. Throughout the years he's supported me 100%- from the many hours on the softball field, to volleyball games, and FCCLA events, and not to mention those years in college- he's always questioned my choices with good intentions, provided advice when my heart needed it the most, and has loved me throughout it all. 

Each day I see fight and determination in his eyes, as he fights each day to not only beat cancer (as that's just a bi-product of his attitude) but he fights to live life to the fullest, to continue to smile through the pain, and make each of us proud. I learned so quickly just three short years ago that life is in fact short, and I also learned very quickly that it's not the amount of time you spend here, but how you spend it. Three short years ago Dad taught my heart to love even more, experience life to it's fullest, and to capture moments in time as memories that will last forever. 

Wishing Dad a very happy birthday, and prayers for many more birthday celebrations in our future!

And thank you all for continuing on this incredible journey with us! 

We Went With Our Heart. Dad Update 8/11/2016

From phone calls, text messages, Facebook messages, emails, and those of you who stopped any of us to share that you've been praying for us, and with us, in making our big decision in Dad's treatment plan- thank you!

That little blog post that shared some of my emotions of fear, anxiety and concern received over 700 views. I can't even begin to put into words what it means to know that we have so many people following our story and continuing on this journey with us one step at a time. 

I'm not sure if my head and my heart will ever be on the same page when it comes to the treatment options for Dad, but what I do know is that I had a chance to have a one on one conversation with Dad- just me and him. And I asked him, flat out asked him what HE wanted to do- and he said he would do whatever we thought was best. And I stopped him and again asked, 'No Dad, what do YOU want?"

And he wanted a break from the treatment. And that was my moment of clarity. For so long I was worried about what to do- what decision I would make, when all along I should have just asked Dad and made him give me an answer.  

How long will the break from chemo be for? Well, that part of the decision is up to our oncologist. We are leaving it up to her to tell us for how long she feels comfortable going off of the chemotherapy- which will probably mean a few more MRIs in our future to monitor any potential cancer growth.

To be honest, I feel very at ease with our decision. I've had time to really think about all of our options, and I think my heart has been pretty LOUD in this decision making process. Sure, I still hear my head from time to time bring the anxiety and fear back into the process- what IF the cancer returns- but I told my head that IF the cancer returns, then I will assume it was going to return regardless if we took a break from the chemotherapy or not. When someone's life is measured in months with a cancer diagnosis, weeks matter- so why give them 2 horrible weeks on a treatment that we aren't sure is doing any good at this point? 

Dad will still continue on the Avastin treatment- it's an IV treatment done every 2 weeks- as it leaves very little side effects (except for increased blood pressure). And he plans to start physical therapy soon, as the impacts of the surgery and radiation are causing some weakness in his legs and arms. 

Yesterday I called Dad on my way home from work just to say hi, and he sounded SO good. He sounded as though a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He sounded like my old Dad again.

The anxiety, stress, and fear that consumes my body on a daily basis when I think of Dad's cancer was quickly taken away when I heard him talking- it was in that moment that I knew the decision we made was the perfect decision for Dad. It was in that moment that I realized I would rather have just SOME days like this then have months of him being miserable. 

To say that we love and appreciate the thoughts, prayers, kind words and support we've received over the last (almost!) 3 years would be an understatement, as I can't truly share how blessed we really are with amazing friends and family.

Some days aren't easy, some decisions in this process are tough, but I'm so happy that in the battle with our heads and our hearts, we went with our hearts. 

Thank you all for the continued thoughts and prayers, and thank you all for helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!

Head and Heart. Dad Update 8/1/2016

In just a few short days, we will have reached 34 months in our battle against brain cancer. And I would be lying if I said that brain cancer hasn't been a pretty big mountain in our lives these last 34 months- one that we have tried so hard to move, just inch my inch. Inch by Inch-because I truly do believe we've been assigned this mountain to prove to others that it CAN be moved. 

But sometimes the mountain feels impossible to move, sometimes the weight of our own anxiety, stress, fear and sadness weighs the mountain down more than we can imagine. And this weight was so very clear to me this weekend.

Sunday I helped Mom clean out the bathroom, as my parents decided to re-do the bathroom/shower to make it easier for both my Dad, and my Mom. But as we cleaned out cabinet by cabinet, we came across the medicine cabinet- one with empty chemotherapy bottles (I would guess at least 30 bottles), and my heart sank. 

My mind went back to Thursday night when I received a phone call from Mom letting me know that Dad was having extreme right side weakness- and something was not right. She was pretty certain he was having a mini-stroke, and there was absolutely nothing we could do. So I waited all night for the phone call letting me know to head to the ER, as I feared a much larger stroke was on it's way- but I'm so thankful that call never came. The right side weakness seemed to get better, and Dad slept through the night without any issues. 

This weekend this mountain seemed heavier and larger than ever before. Along with the mini-stroke and the realization of how long Dad has been battling this beast, my heart and my head were conflicting on the decision if we should take a "chemo break".

There is no scientific evidence to show that taking the chemotherapy forever is beneficial- nor is there any scientific evidence to show that taking the chemotherapy for only 9 months, or 18 months is the perfect dosage. There is no scientific evidence to help us at all with our decision. 

So instead, we've been praying about it- we've been praying so incredibly hard. I've had a few conversations with the man upstairs, each one begging him to have my head and my heart feel the same way. 

In one week we will make this decision, as a family- with Dad getting the ultimate vote- and I haven't decided if I'll be voting with my head or with my heart. My head says, "If he goes off the chemotherapy and the tumor returns, there is a chance the chemotherapy will not be able to work as quickly as the tumor grows." Sometimes I think I've read one too many articles about this beast Dad battles.

But my heart, my heart looks at Dad's face during his chemotherapy week (and the week following), and sees how tired he is from fighting through the side effects of the drug. His face doesn't show defeat, but it shows a need to slow down the treatment- it shows a need to get the quality back in his life during these weeks. 

The day I heard the diagnosis, the day I heard the life span of someone with Dad's cancer- I told myself I would never allow treatment to get in the way of Dad's quality of life- so now the question remains, at what point am I doing that by voting to continue the chemotherapy? 

As the days countdown until our next doctor's visit, my prayers double in asking God to have my head and my heart be on the same page- because right now, my heart is sounding so much louder than my head. We all want to go into this decision with no regrets, with absolute assurance that we have made the right choice, and with the understanding that it is always God's will whatever may happen.

It's just sometimes, when you've got your head and your heart at war- making a decision and feeling 100% certain about it feels nearly impossible.

Asking for continued prayers as we struggle with making the best decision for Dad as a family. And as always, thank you all for the continued love and support in helping us BTHO Brain Cancer!